


To Humbler Functions, I Call Thee

by Maidenjedi



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blink and Miss It, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1918356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/pseuds/Maidenjedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn Stark, mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Humbler Functions, I Call Thee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilecourageuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



> "To humbler functions, awful Power!  
> I call thee: I myself commend  
> Unto thy guidance from this hour;  
> Oh, let my weakness have an end!  
> Give unto me, made lowly wise,  
> The spirit of self-sacrifice;  
> The confidence of reason give;  
> And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!"
> 
> From 'Ode to Duty' by William Wordsworth. Entire poem: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174804

The first time she felt a quickening, she was in the godswood at Winterfell. 

Catelyn never spent much time there, especially in the early days of her marriage to Lord Eddard Stark. His gods were not her gods, try as she might to embrace them. The godswood was peaceful, however, and she was much fatigued with running a household alone, in the midst of open war. 

The day it happened, she sat on a log, her face tipped to the sky to soak up the slight sunshine that fought through the treetops and the cold. There was no noise at all, not so much as a bird chirping. The quiet enveloped her and she luxuriated in it.

She felt a flutter, and held her hand to her stomach. She was hungry, perhaps. She hadn't been, lately, and she was glad of the idea. She felt it again, and then again, and a third time. It was rhythmic, not a hunger pang at all. She looked down at her hand clasped to her middle, eyes wide as she realized. 

A child. Ned Stark would be a father. She failed to notice how she called him Ned now, for the first time.

And the next thought - _I will be a mother._

That night, she spoke to the septa, who called for the maester. It was quickly confirmed, though Catelyn asked for silence on their parts for the time being. The news must reach Ned before anyone else, and the Lord of Winterfell could tell the news of his heir in his own way.

When they left her, the septa warned that what she had felt was no kick confirming life and not to expect it again so soon. Catelyn dismissed the idea. This child lived in her.

That night, she dreamt. A young man, crowned king. Her heart arrested with worry and pride all at once. And a seemingly endless summer coming to an abrupt close.

Finally, Ned, who had not yet come to her in any dream. His voice, so terribly unfamiliar even now, with one thing to tell her.

"Winter is coming."

-

The war was over when Catelyn felt it the second time, and she was mother to a sweet, beautiful girl with soft red down on her tiny head. Sansa's eyes were blue like any child's, but stayed blue, the Tully in her shining out and declaring that no winter would damp her spirits.

Summer was coming to Winterfell, as surely as the war had ended. Even the snows had tapered off and the drifts melted. Sansa's sweet disposition was the final evidence. They had survived, and in this tiny girl was the promise of better days to come. 

Ned had come home triumphant, though his natural solemnity betrayed little of it. It had, in truth, been a hard war for the Starks. Lyanna had passed, in a cruel twist, and her body had been returned and buried in the crypt four months before Ned had been able to follow. The nature of her death was even yet a mystery, a year later. And Ned had brought with him a spoil of war none foresaw. A child. A boy, just younger than Robb, whose coloring and look so favored Ned's as to quell any doubt. 

He brought the child - Jon, he called him - to Catelyn. Her countenance, joyful on hearing Ned's footsteps, turned cold. She blanched when introduced to the babe, hearing Ned say the words that erased all hope that this was a hostage, or a child of the king's they must take in, or any number of other scenarios. 

"This is Jon Snow. And he is mine."

Catelyn could forgive many wrongs. The near immediate separation following their wedding, Ned's absence for the birth of his son, being left to learn her household duties and the ways of the North without a friend to her name in all of Winterfell. Her heart was able to absorb these and more. But betrayal of this kind! To think she had waited here, whilst he warmed himself in the bed of another. 

She looked her husband in the eye, and spoke to the servant behind him. "Please make sure my husband is comfortable in the room adjoining mine. And take Jon Snow," here she barely concealed her hurt, masking it with contempt, a tone she would use his entire life, "to the nursery."

Sansa's conception, Catelyn was sure, came about the very night her heart thawed just enough to admit Ned back to their marriage bed. He had been penitent, and passionate. Her heart nearly broke as he leaned his forehead to hers and said, "Never again. I will never leave your side again." 

-

"Brandon," she whispered, tickling his toes. He shifted and smiled briefly in his sleep. He had been like this from his first days, peaceful and hard to disturb. She loved him for it. He was a balm for her nerves, which had been fiercely rattled in the final months of her pregnancy. Ned was called to the King's service - and off he marched, without consulting his lady wife, citing "duty" as his solemn watchword.

She accepted it, as she must. It wasn't a duty undertaken lightly, she knew, and Robert Baratheon's throne was not so secure that it could withstand rebellions even as careless as that of Balon Greyjoy. The Greyjoys had few castellans, and fewer willing to prop Lord Balon up as a king of anything, even the forbidding Iron Islands. Catelyn's knowledge of the politics involved was rusty, but even six months pregnant and mothering Robb and Sansa, she knew King Robert must crush this rebellion or face others. Balon Greyjoy's success could encourage other middling lords in their ambitions, and so he must not succeed.

She accepted it, she knew what was at stake, and she supported Ned's decision.

It didn't stop her from more frequent escapes to the godswood, or stop her heart from leaping into her throat at every unexpected visitor. Only Ned's return could calm her - until his arrival, with a hostage in tow. 

Now there was another young man to be trained up, and another mouth to satisfy. Maester Luwin was unfazed, and took Theon under his wing as easily as if he'd been expected. And privately, Catelyn believed even Theon Greyjoy may be a better companion for her Robb than the Snow child. 

Bran's arrival was within days of Ned's return. He was in the room with her at the end, improper though it was considered. He was the first to hold Bran, and he whispered to Catelyn that they should call him Brynden, after her uncle, a traditional Tully name. She shook her head.

"Brandon," she whispered, covering Ned's hand with hers. "He is a Stark, and must have a Stark name."

His eyes filled and they sat like that for a long while, marveling over their Bran.

She remembered the scene now, watching Bran sleep, six months old and curled on his side. She rubbed her stomach, already swollen with another child. "You are loved, Brandon Stark," she whispered, and she left him to his dreams.

-

"Another sister?" Robb's voice took on a petulant tone as he peered into the bassinet. 

Ned looked at him and frowned. "Sisters are a blessing, too, Robb. The gods use us all to their purpose. You do not know what hers will be."

Sansa came and stood next to her brother and looked down, and her nose wrinkled ever so slightly.

"She doesn't have red hair like mine."

"No, she looks more like your father, with his hair and features," said Catelyn, who stood behind her elder children. "The gods chose well, as they suit her perfectly."

Ned smiled up at Catelyn and reached out to hold her hand. Robb made a noise of childish disgust and left the room. Sansa echoed her brother and ran after him, provoking the cry of frustration that always came when sister attempted to emulate brother. 

Catelyn laughed, knowing it would end when the septa caught Sansa for her bath and Maester Luwin caught up to Robb for his lessons. Bran was napping in the nursery. Catelyn had asked that Arya be allowed to sleep in Sansa's room, so that the girls might grow up close allies in this boys' world. 

"She does look like you, Ned," Catelyn said, coming around to stand beside him.

He smiled down at Arya and shook his head. "No. She looks like Lyanna."

-

Family. Duty. Honor. The Tully words, each with its own gravity, echoed in Catelyn's mind whenever she looked at her children. 

Duty could have been woven into the Stark words, truth be told. She was reminded of that whenever she saw Jon Snow. He could have been left to foster elsewhere, far from her sight. But a man like Eddard Stark was incapable leaving his duty to someone else's charge. 

The difference, she thought, between Stark and Tully was really in the order of those words. A Stark put duty above all else, even family. Honor and duty were nearly synonymous. The Tully way, however, held that family came before all. That dishonor and failure were preferable to leaving one's family behind.

These were the thoughts Catelyn Stark had the night that Ned was asked to be Hand of the King. 

She got up from their bed, long after Ned had fallen asleep. She was not prone to nighttime wandering, but she was totally unable to quiet her thoughts. It was too cold to head to the godswood, and too unsafe with so many unknown courtesans and their attendants on the grounds. So she went to the only room she could think of that might afford her a moment's peace.

The nursery was in its last days of use. Rickon was to share Bran's room, beginning on his fourth name day. Rickon had been a hard child to rear thus far. He weaned late, walked later than the others, spoke later. At three, he was still wearing padded small clothes, though the septa assured Catelyn that those days were waning at last. "Boys are always later than girls," she said in what she probably thought was a soothing tone. But Robb and Bran were not this difficult, Catelyn bit back. She smiled instead, and took it in stride.

She opened the door to the nursery, quietly. The septa was awake, tucking away the last of the laundry, and Rickon was curled up under a bear fur blanket, snoring softly. Catelyn went to the septa and whispered as quietly as she could. "I am only here to sit for a moment. Would you mind going for a short walk? I will finish putting these away."

The septa nodded, as though it had been optional, and left Catelyn alone with Rickon.

He was in desperate need of an attentive father. This was a child who would benefit most from Ned's guidance and direction. They had discussed it, not two months before, when Rickon was going through a phase of biting his septa and pointedly ignoring all direct questions or summons. He responded to Ned, and only Ned. Catelyn had some luck with him, but he wanted Catelyn to baby him, and it was a struggle within her to be firmer. 

She folded the last shirt and put it away, quietly shutting the drawer. Rickon slept on. He had that in his favor, she thought. He slept as deeply as his father.

Rickon's hair was dark, his features light. He was, perhaps more than any of his siblings, a perfect mix of Stark and Tully. He was young in his ways - it was his age, of course, but then Bran at three had a look of wisdom that spooked the septa and landed him in Maester Luwin's tutelage earlier than planned. Catelyn tried to remember Robb at the same age. She did not think, not even peripherally, of Jon Snow at that age or any other.

Rickon turned in his sleep, his back now to Catelyn. Her breath caught as she thought of Rickon growing up fatherless. What if Ned should not return? There was little doubt that the position was the most perilous in the kingdom. With Jon Arryn's death, it meant that the only man to serve as Hand in the last one hundred years and survive to retire was Tywin Lannister. Those odds were grim. 

Family. Duty. Honor.

If she dragged Ned from his sleep and had him stare at his helpless, struggling son, would he tell Robert to have his choice of the seven hells? Would he choose duty to family over duty to king and country? Robert's self-created noose of Lannister gold could mean the end of his Rebellion, and foster theirs in turn. Would Ned stand by and let that happen, if he saw his son sleeping here so peacefully?

Catelyn knew if she stood in Ned's place at this moment, she would not hesitate. The Lannisters be damned, Robert's pride be damned, all of it. The seven hells could swallow the Seven Kingdoms whole, so long as Catelyn was able to protect her family. Her fists clenched and her heart raced. Blood rushed to her face and she stood flushed and coiled tightly when the septa returned.

"My lady?" she whispered. 

The rage left as quickly as it had overtaken her. Catelyn breathed out, slowly, before turning to leave. 

"Make sure he is warm. It is an exceptionally cold night," she said, and she walked back to her chambers and Ned's side. 

He would not do it. He had to go his own way. He saw his duty to King Robert as a filial one, and Robert himself as a brother. If it meant his life, well, that was a possibility that would never once cross his mind. Catelyn was sure of this and more. Ned had his duties, as a man. Catelyn had hers - as a mother.

She slipped into bed, and Ned immediately turned and curled against her in his sleep. She thought back to a night in another lifetime, and his sweet promises. She knew he meant them. 

He loved honor more.

\---

**Author's Note:**

> I always think of Richard Lovelace's poem 'To Lucasta, going to the wars' as the ultimate Ned/Catelyn verse, and it ran through my head while writing the last part: http://www.bartleby.com/101/343.html
> 
> I initially tagged this as being Game of Thrones, but also A Song of Ice and Fire, because in my mind, Catelyn's journey as a mother inevitably takes her where the novels do, but the show does not. Due to objections about canon divergence, I took down the ASOIAF tag and retagged this as AU, but it isn't AU from show canon through season 4.


End file.
